


In the Snow on Christmas Morning

by ProfessorDrarry



Series: Christmas Fic [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, HP: Epilogue Compliant, M/M, until it really isn't anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: The lake is frozen over, the trees are white with snow.There is time for the fighting later. Time for the apologies and the answered questions. For now, there is Christmas and an encouraging Ginny, and promises to keep, and Harry and Draco are quite powerless against it.





	In the Snow on Christmas Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, I am a contributing member of society who functions with responsibilities. Other times, I play the same song on repeat for two hours and write vaguely sad Christmas Drarry fics that contain more questions than answers. 
> 
> There is no in between.

  
_This is how I see you_  
_In the snow on Christmas morning_  
_Love and happiness surround you_  
As you throw your arms up to the sky

**December 23, Wiltshire, England**

 

Draco was restless. He knew why he was restless, but the knowledge wasn’t solving the problem. He’d already been banished from the kitchen by a frazzled Astoria, asked politely to leave the library by a silent, reading Scorpius, and had been bitten by the crup for too much pacing while she was trying to nap. Finally, he’d settled in the slightly-too-cold solarium, staring out the window at the snow and unable to sit down or even finish a cup of tea.

“Draco,” Astoria sighed from behind him. “Why don’t you just go? This is ridiculous.”

“I told you, I’m not going,” he said, turning to look at her, grinning to find her decked out in her black party dress, turquoise jewellery that stood out gorgeously on her skin.

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“You look lovely,” he said appreciatively.

“Well, coming from you, darling, that means next to nothing. Please, stop being an idiot.” She turned and left the room, letting the partition slide shut. “You need to be gone in an hour, my parents will be here soon,” she called back through the screen.

He sighed and looked out at the fields again.

“I’m not going,” he said to himself, checking his watch.

If he got a move on, he just might make it in time.

 

**December 23, London, England**

 

Harry was running around the kitchen, chasing a giggling Lily when he remembered. It was like a cold bucket of water being dumped all over him, and Lily stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen, a worried look on her face.

“Mum!“ she called out. “Mum! I think he’s doing it again! The staring thing!”

Ginny rushed into the kitchen, expecting to find him flat on the floor mid-seizure, and burst into an amused grin when instead, she saw Harry’s stricken expression of existential crisis.

“Lily,” she chided. “Does this _look_ like the staring thing?”

“Well, no! But he _has_ gone all funny,” she defended.

“Never mind. Hugo’s arrived. He says you have secret affairs to attend to?” Ginny grinned.

“That cousin,” Lily sighed dramatically. “He can’t sort out his own Christmas gifts. I tell you.”

She skipped merrily out of the kitchen and Ginny turned to Harry, placing a gentle hand on the small of his back and pushing him forward.

“There’s a thermos of tea by the door already, and that old duffle bag has blankets and a scarf in it.”

“Ginny, that’s not — I’m not going,”

“I’ll tell Lily you got called into work. It’s fine. They’re here for the next couple of days anyway.”

Harry grimaced and looked at the front door.

“I’m not going,” he repeated.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ginny said.

 

**December 23   Coast of Skye, Scotland**

 

When crunch of snow and a warm weight beside him interrupted Draco’s grumbled irritation and silent cursing, he didn’t look up at first. He was a vindictive man; he refused to be the first to speak, the first to acknowledge, and yet he knew that if he were not frozen to the core, his cheeks would have blushed from the realisation that he hadn’t been the only one who had _almost_ managed to keep his word.

Five minutes passed before a zipper screech dipped into the heady silence all around him, and a blanket was proffered peacefully. Draco took it, a sickening orange plaid thing that could _only_ have come from a Weasley. He unfurled it and threw it over his legs, the part of his body attached to the frozen ground, and therefore, the least protected by his warming charms.

“Thought you weren’t coming?” Harry said softly.

“Thought you weren’t either.”

“Almost didn’t,” Harry said, offering Draco a cup of tea in a camp mug, which Draco took after only a slight hesitation.

“Don’t think he’s coming,” Draco muttered, blowing on the tea and taking a large, burning gulp that felt like safety and comfort.

Harry laughed, a reserved and cautious sound. “You always say that,” he said, looking at his mittens, where a drop of his own tea had fallen. “And then he _always_ comes.”

“We’re late. What if he was already here?”

“Relax, Draco,” Harry soothed, leaning back slightly and stretching out his legs. He looked across the horizon with a satisfied, contented gaze, and Draco followed his eye.

As always, he was struck by the beauty of this place. It’s rugged hills, normally harsh and brown, were blanketed with a layer of icy snow; it was too cold to snow most days, and the scrub brush still peeked through, but it was enough to turn the sky a purple hue that reflected beautifully on the crystalline lake, too deep to freeze but also not interrupted by the wind. They were high enough up to see the ocean in the distance, a black and unfriendly colour that somehow still managed to calm him.

He _did_ relax and an hour stretched out before them. Just when Draco was about to declare defeat and take the long and complicated floo-and-Apparition trip home, a distant hum hit him in the base of his skull. It descended on the silent landscape as a beating, hurtling woosh, and they stood up suddenly in a boyish scramble that made them both huff in quiet laughter.

“I see him,” Harry smiled. Draco scanned the sky desperately, and sure enough, almost camouflaged against the sky, he found a white, feathered head, the gentle curve of massive wings.

He flew closer and closer, screeching in greeting and skimming the surface of the water in an arced ripple as he touched down and folded his wings.

“Show off,” Harry laughed, stepping forward slowly. Draco waited. He always waited. He had learned this lesson in a complicated mix of embarrassment and injury at thirteen, and he always let Harry go first.

“Oh, oh my God!” Harry shouted as he rose from a deep, mirrored bow. “Draco, come see! Come on!”

Draco moved forward cautiously, not looking up and already folded in a reverent hunch. He watched a large, talented paw dip smoothly.

“You’re fine,” Harry said impatiently. “Now _look._ ”

Draco rose and saw beneath the paws he’d been watching carefully, gasping at what he found when he walked toward Harry.

“Buckbeak!” He said happily. “Buckbeak, are you a dad, now?”

The tiny hippogriff clung carefully to its father’s back legs, downy fluff still stark against its haunches.

Draco moved toward it and extended a careful hand, grinning when the baby nuzzled closer and made a tiny, miniature version of his father’s own screech.

“Well, look at that. You have far better luck with baby hippogriff than you do adults, apparently,” Harry laughed. “Think we still get to go?”

“Dunno,” Draco shrugged, petting the soft, fuzzy feathers beneath his hand and too enamoured to rise to Harry’s taunting. Just as he responded, though, Buckbeak lowered his front legs to the ground and chuffed. “Oh,” Draco hummed. “Thank you.”

He climbed up, bending his legs into the grooves behind Buckbeak’s wings, closing his eyes and tucking himself low, like he was on a broom. He managed to not jolt when Harry settled in behind him and gripped his waist. It was too familiar, too comfortable, too _much_ , but he could hardly say anything about it. Harry had to sit close, or he’d fall.

“Er,” Harry said in his ear, breath warming a spot onto Draco’s hat. “Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Draco said over the wind.

It wasn’t, but there was nothing to do about it, especially as Buckbeak crouched low and then leapt into the air, the baby unfurling its own wings as it gripped tightly. Just as it had every year for the past five, Draco’s stomach gave a joyful lurch, his ears ringing with the sudden exhilaration. The wind whipped and tore at his face, but he tucked it lower into his scarf and grinned. Harry’s legs held his tighter as he gave a whoop of joy. He felt the same, but apparently, this year, his emotions demanded silent awe and prickled tears.

They spun North, climbing in a gentle spiral, and when Draco looked out, he saw that they were already over the ocean. If ever he were frightened, this would be the moment; instead, he just felt alive and free.

They flew for ages, dipping in and out of mountains and islands, tiny dots of towns and villages stark against the hillsides. Draco’s face was numb in no time, his hands losing grip on Buckbeak as he got more comfortable, as he unconsciously leaned back into Harry.

“We’re gonna land soon,” Harry said loudly, shouting in his ear over the wind. “If you wanna to do it.”

He gripped Draco’s hips even tighter, and Draco nodded, breathing deeply and looking over the top of Buckbeak’s head. Slowly, he raised his arms and lifted himself to sit upright. He screamed, as loud as he possibly could. He put a year of strangeness into the sound, a year of anger and frustration and broken promises. And when he sat back down, the pain behind his eyes had lifted. He closed his eyes to check, leaning back into Harry again, who hugged him close and nestled his head onto Draco’s shoulder.

Sure enough, Buckbeak touched down a moment later, skimming the water and drenching them both, to peals of laughter. Harry scrambled down the second they were grounded, and by the time Draco had followed, he had already packed his duffle. They spent a few minutes with Buckbeak, Draco lingering in the background for a few moments as Harry whispered secrets that Draco could guess the contents of. When the giant beast had turned and taken off, screeching away across the horizon, Harry turned to Draco suddenly, a hand extended and a firm expression on his face.

“Happy Christmas, then,” he said in a strange, robotic tone. “See you next year.”

“Um, yes,” Draco nodded, grasping Harry’s hand. “Next year.”

Harry shook his hand, nodded once, shouldered his bag, and spun into Apparition without another word.

Draco sat back down, and waited for the Highland sunset, his eyes prickling with unshed tears and frustration.

**December 25 London, England**

 

Harry was already exhausted, and it was only ten in the morning. No one had warned him that having three kids would make Christmas morning a bit of a polava; a fun one, but nonetheless, a chaotic and manic affair. He couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Ginny growing up. He yawned again, and Ginny laughed at him. Lily was running around with her floating owl doll, shrieking in her best impression of Henson, Ginny’s barn owl. It was making the boys laugh for now, but Harry knew that they joy was limited. Lily, at seven, would carry on the game far longer than any of them would be okay with and the boys would argue and things would go downhill quickly. He wandered around for a moment tidying paper and ribbons, fetching Ginny’s coffee cup and heading to the kitchen to refill them both.

From the tiled floor to the chipped cupboards, this room still felt like home, but when he opened the cabinet where the coffee had always been, he found plates instead and sighed. _Not home_ , he told himself. _Don’t get sappy._

The kettle had just boiled when a sudden dinging shocked him out of his half-sleeping daze.

“Mummy! Doorbell!”

“Yes, thank you Lil, I am not so old that I am deaf,” Ginny said wearily. Harry saw her stretch off the couch and pad toward the door as he walked back to the living room with their mugs.

“You actually listened,” he heard her say behind the open door. “That is the very first time _that_ has ever happened. Come in, come in, you great sod. We’re all through here.”

Whoever Harry had been expecting to see when Ginny closed the door, it was definitely not a sheepish and terrified Draco Malfoy, and he choked on his sip of coffee before looking back up in surprise. But it was indeed Draco, standing there, tall and aristocratic, hair quaffed carefully off his face, a dark grey pea coat draped perfectly over his body and falling to his knees, accompanied by a Ravenclaw blue scarf slung loosely, black leather gloves, and boots Harry had never seen.

“Happy Christmas,” Draco breathed as he stepped forward into Harry’s gaze.

“Draco!” Lily shouted, flinging herself into his arms. Draco calmly caught her and smiled a beatific grin as he slung her up into his arms. The sight sent Harry’s stomach rolling, his heart racing, and his blood boiling in anger. 

“Lily, why don’t you go get Draco’s present while he and Daddy have a quick look at your snowman outside.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Ginny’s eyes were murderous. He stood up and walked past Draco to violently pick up his coat and head outside. He knew he had been followed, and he stopped on the porch.

“Why are you here, Draco?”

Silence fell over them for a moment and eventually, Harry turned to find Draco staring at him.

“Well?”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to decide how to answer. Because, well, there are a few possibilities.”

“There are,” Harry deadpanned. “There is more than one reason as to why you are on my front stoop at my family Christmas?”

Draco nodded, looking at his hands.

“See,” he began. “The simple answer is ‘Ginny told me to come’.”

“She —“

“But that’s not really like us, is it? The simple answer is almost never the right one, not between us.”

Harry shook his head in tacit agreement, waiting for Draco to continue.

“So, then we get to the second reason. The harder one. The ‘I missed you this morning when I should have just been enjoying Christmas with my son’ one. Much more complex, harder to explain. And that’s still not the hardest one, you see.”

Harry knew he was glaring at Draco, and he didn’t really want to be. He hadn’t wanted to glare at Draco in months, but there was so much _space_ between here and there. So much left unsaid, so much broken, so many places where the cracks were showing.

“It isn’t?” Harry stuttered. He stepped closer, one step less space, hoping he could help. Hoping he could convince Draco to say it; they both knew what it was, what needed to happen. He had known the second he’d found Draco waiting for Buckbeak.

“No,” Draco breathed. “The most complicated reason is that I’m here because, well, you and I…”

“I know,” Harry said, saving him even though he had planned to let him flounder. He deserved to flounder a bit, but it was Christmas and Harry was feeling charitable. “I know, Draco. So what are we going to do about it? I already told you, I can’t do this if you are going to run every time things get hard.”

“I’m exhausted,” Draco said, closing his eyes.

“What?” Harry said, confused.

Draco suddenly closed the gap between them, sinking into a kiss that he had been planning for weeks, had been desperately trying to convince himself he didn’t need, wasn’t going to take. Which was pretty stupid, in retrospect. Of course he needed it. He sighed contentedly against Harry’s shocked lips and Harry laughed, wrapping his arms around Draco and kissing him again, more gently, more carefully. They needed to be more careful this time, Draco knew. It was just hard to remember when he was wrapped up in _this_.

“I said,” Draco murmured, nuzzling Harry’s stubbled, morning face. “I’m exhausted. I’m not running anywhere anytime soon.”

“Well, thank fuck for that,” Ginny’s harsh voice said from the open door. “Are you two morons ready to come back inside? Lily has a present for you, Draco, and apparently, Albus has made extra waffles because you love them. We don’t really have time for sappy reunions. We have to be at the Burrow in two hours. Can you two sort out the finer details of your stupidity tomorrow?”

Harry grinned at her and flipped her off, and she laughed and closed the door again.

“Your divorce is weird,” Draco said, still holding onto Harry as though he might float away.

“Says the man who still lives with his ex-wife,” Harry scoffed, pulling Draco closer and biting his ear with gentle teeth.

“I’m hoping that’s still just temporary,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear.

“Draco—“

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Draco said, smiling. “There’s no rush. _I’m not going anywhere.”_

 


End file.
